She pierced me with an incredulous stare. “Why would I start a glaring contest with them?”
“Good point.” I glanced at them—yep, they were still sneaking sneers our way—and then I scanned Juli from head to…well, wherever the table hid her from view. “I wonder what their issue is. It’s not like your clothes don’t match. You look hot and sporty. So it can’t be some fashion faux pas that’s offended their trendy little senses.”
Julianna rolled her eyes. “It’s because I’m black,” she told me dryly.
I lifted my eyebrows. “Huh?”
“They don’t think I belong here with you.”
I stared at her a moment without speaking, then turned to study the gossiping women openly. “You think?”
“Yes,” she hissed, reaching out to grab my hand in order to get my attention. “I knew it’d be a bad idea to come here. I’ve never seen any black people in this neighborhood when I’ve driven by before. I don’t belong here. Dammit, Colton, please stop looking at them.”
I turned back to her, not letting go of her fingers when she tried to pull away. “Okay, first of all, that’s just bullshit. You belong everywhere, baby doll. And secondly, are you sure it’s a race thing? Maybe they’re just jealous because you’re so beautiful.”
With a roll of her eyes, she sighed. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the problem.”
“No, seriously,” I urged. “I know you go to great lengths to make sure everything on you is perfectly in place and flawless every day. To you, nothing would be worse than being criticized for your appearance. But I think all that perfection actually brings you more judgment.”
She pulled back, lifting her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“You’re almost inhuman because of how gorgeous you are,” I explained. “That’ll make all the mortal, average women out there jealous and more critical. They’ll watch you closer, look for any small, insignificant thing wrong with you to prove you’re not so perfect after all just to make themselves feel better.”
“Is that how you think I feel?” she demanded. “That how a person looks is what’s most important to me?”
“No…” I said slowly, knowing I’d just put myself on some slippery ground here, but I couldn’t seem to shut myself up. “I don’t think you judge other people for how they look. And I don’t think you’re trying to make yourself out to look better than anyone else either. You’re not that arrogant. You’re…fuck, what’s the word.” I snapped my fingers when it came to me. “You’re defensive. I think your motto is that the best defense is a good offense.”
She shook her head slowly. “I’m not following.”
“You don’t judge, but you feel as if you’re always being judged, so you go on the offensive before anyone can attack you. Every time you dress, you make a statement. You’re trying to prove to the world that you are not lower than anyone else. You’re not going to go down without a fight.” I shrugged. “Which I find really admirable and awesome, though sometimes it works against you.”
“How does that work against me?” She leaned toward me, seeming intrigued, but not pissed, which was a huge relief to me, since pissing her off was the very last thing I wanted to do.
“To stupid, simple-minded people just glancing by, all that pride in yourself sometimes makes you appear…” I winced, knowing the next word I said wouldn’t be pretty.
She sent me a dry glance. “Just say it.”
So I blurted, “Stuck-up.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh really? Stuck-up, huh?” She shook her head, grinning as if amused. “But you say you know better than that, huh?”
“Of course, I know better.” I winked and whispered, “I’ve seen your underwear, remember?”
She threw her head back and laughed. “My underwear? How the hell does my underwear have anything to do with anything?”
“They’re my favorite thing you wear,” I swore solemnly.
Shaking her head, she continued to chuckle. “How? They’re boring as hell.”
“No,” I insisted. “They’re honest as hell. They’re one of the only things you put on your body that no one else sees. So they tell me exactly how you’d dress if it didn’t matter to you what anyone thought about you. They tell me you value comfort and practicality while you also like flashy colors over dull boring ones. And you keep all this tucked privately away where very few privileged people get a glimpse of them.”
Her lips parted as she studied my face. After a second of just soaking in my words, she murmured, “It’s scary how fucking perceptive you are.”
With a chuckle, I reached out to trace my finger over her cheekbone. “And yet I think you like it.”
“Yeah, well…” She grinned and rolled her eyes, appearing rueful. “Except for the fact that now I sound boring, since I represent my plain, practical underwear, yeah, your talent of reading me’s not so bad.”